Hook Line Sinker
by Gooniegirl3333
Summary: Ryan Wolfe: the inexperienced, the scapegoat, the troublemaker, the gambler... and a friend from Ryan's past is just the person to prove everyone right. Set during season 4. An explanation, if you will, about the beginning of Ryan's greatest problem.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So, it's been awhile since I posted anything on here. This is a story that I have been thinking about for a good while. Right now, it's only considered a one-shot until I actually sit down and plot out every chapter to line up with the show (this will essentially continue all the way until his eventual fire). I figured that if I never get to plotting it out, I should at least post this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't NOT own CSI: Miami or its characters...or the theme song.

Set in season 4 after "Urban Hellraisers".

* * *

 **Hook. Line. Sinker.**

One hand on the glass door entrance and the other in his pocket, the CSI stepped out of the Miami-Dade Police Department and sighed a solemn exhale. The birds chirped happily, the wind blew majestically through the tall, green trees as the sun slowly began to set, its luminous colors blending carefully with one another. Everything about this setting voiced beauty.

…this view, in no way, matched how Ryan Wolfe was feeling.

Against his better judgement, he was being called on to sniff out the lab's mole. Why him? Because he was new? Because no one really seemed to like him to begin with? Because he could be brazen, and his colleagues would think he was "just being Ryan"?

And on top of that, he was probably losing his sight and therefore his career. Everything about the past months compounded and sat heavily on his shoulders. Some days, the CSI wasn't sure if he was strong enough to carry it all, if he still had the ability to breathe.

Ryan stretched out his arms above, entangling the fingers and placing his hands a top his head, something he did when he was stressed.

 _What a way to go out…_

"Wolfe?" a man's voiced chimed from behind him. "Ryan Wolfe! As I live and breathe!" the man exclaimed as he took Ryan's hand into a heart-filled shake, both men smiling from cheek to cheek.

"James Newberry," Ryan stated joyfully as his previous thoughts simply vanished. "How's it been?" The two men separated from the friendly embrace, letting their bodies relax in stance. Newberry was Wolfe's partner sometimes when he was still in patrol, before his days in the lab. Thinking back, Ryan wondered if it was the right choice leaving.

"It's been great! Left patrol to pursue more... interesting career paths," James smirked, a sense of deviousness hidden behind the proud smile. "I was just here to pay a ticket. How about you? Last I heard, you moved on up as a CSI working for **the** Lieutenant Horatio Caine? That's big stuff."

"Yeah, well, it's, uh... it's great," Ryan hesitantly replied, a forged chuckle escaping his breath. His brown-haired friend caught the CSI's questionable demeanor, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

"By the sound of it, not too great at all, huh?" James pointed out. Squinting his eyes, James attempted to read his friend's expression. "Let's go get a drink," he offered. "Then you can tell me all about it."

"Eh, I don't know," Ryan protested, glancing back at the entrance to the station. H probably needs me. Darting his focus back to James, he bit his lip in contemplation. "You know what? Let's go."

The team can deal without their little scapegoat tonight.

 _Later at the bar..._

"Wow," James proclaimed with surprise, a hand claiming his opened mouth.

Ryan raised his eyebrows, his gaze chained to the floor. "I know," he timidly answered and took another drink from his second beer.

"And all in one year?" James questioned.

"Year and a half, technically," Ryan corrected.

"Well, props to you for sticking it out this long," James congratulated sarcastically. A quick buzzing from the man's cellphone caused him to shift in emotions. "Oh, hold on a sec," he said professionally, raising one hand to apologize. "Hello? Yeah. No... the, uh, client said 100, not 10." James carefully glanced over to his friend, a suspicious smile jerking from his mouth every once in a while.

Ryan noticed, realizing his friend was probably dealing in something illegal. But at this moment, he could care less. There were other fish to fry, so to speak, at the lab.

"Yes, I'm sure," James continued, his voice more stern. "Okay, thanks." Hanging up, he redirected his attention again to the CSI. "Sorry about that," James quickly spat with a grin. "That was just, uh…" he shook his head, hoping Ryan would take the bait. "You know what? Never mind." As fast as he apologized, James finished his beer and motioned to the bartender for another one.

"Uh," Wolfe voiced. His eyes shifted from the cold beverage in front of him to the suspicious colleague. "Anything you want to talk about?" he offered. "I mean, that's your new line of work, I'm assuming." Ryan gestured to the cellphone that lay quietly on the wooden, albeit sticky, table.

"It's nothing to worry about, Wolfe!" James motioned defensively. "Besides, I wouldn't want to get you into any more trouble with the boss," he chuckled. **The hook.**

Ryan started to hate that word…"trouble". Was that all he was to the team? He had been trying so hard for the past years to gain some sense of belonging somewhere, but his attempts always seemed ineffective. And now he was being asked to betray those he was desperately seeking approval from?

"Well, at this point," Ryan grumbled beneath his breath, "I'm not too sure I care." He really didn't.

Wolfe," James began after a brief silence, his demeanor still oddly reserved. "Have you thought of how to relieve all of this stress?"

 _Huh?_ Shaking his head, Ryan stared at the young man. "What do you mean, 'stress'?" Quickly, he took the last swig of his beer.

"Trust me, Wolfe. You are stressed. And sometimes, some people 'de-stress' with alcohol, some with more work," James swayed his hands side to side for emphasis. "Why not gambling?"

 _What?_ Ryan's eyes widened suspiciously. "Gambling? Like at a casino?"

"No, off-shore. No license needed. You see, these guys work just outside the system where people like Horatio Caine can't touch them."

"I, uh, I don't know, Jim," Ryan uttered hesitantly. _Did he just suggest?_ "I'm a cop. I could get in trouble for this."

"I thought you said you didn't care."

Wolfe grinded his teeth and let out a heavy sigh. _Damn it_ , he thought. "I don't," he spat.

"Come on, you at least gotta try it," James continued to nudge. "One quick bet, I'm sure you'd see the thrill you'd get from winning. All you gotta do is know how to play the system, and you'll instantly be on this high while being a little richer." The broker could see he wasn't exactly winning this bet, though. "One little bet, Ryan. It won't hurt." **The line.**

 _One little bet_. Ryan's whole life had been one little bet after another.

… _screw it_. "Okay, fine," Ryan surrendered. "What do I do?"

 **The sinker.** "You won't regret this," James cheered. "Now, you'll want play the hottest game in Florida right now. It's called… the Death Pool."

* * *

 **A/N:** Review for good measure.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** : I decided that, even though it seems not many people are reading this story, I would continue it anyway. It's an interesting concept that I've found connections in, so if anything, I'm enjoying it. Hope you end up enjoying it, too!

Overall, this story should be 18 chapters. It'll take you through the important moments, and each chapter will involve an established episode (much like I did with "Cupid's Quarrel"). With every chapter, I will note which episode is being referenced.

 **Episodes referenced** : "The Score" (4x12) & "Fade Out" (4x14)

* * *

Pain. No, it wasn't pain. It was a kind of dullness. And an all-around nuisance. Ryan Wolfe almost wanted to claw his right eye out of its socket.

 _Why does my eye have to be the one thing everyone is talking about?_ he thought. _Why can't we gossip the mole or Eric's recent drug problem?_

Ryan mentally retracted the thought. Just because he was having a hard day didn't mean he should take it out on anyone else, even if they didn't know he was.

 _Still!_ Ryan digressed, _it's not like I have a problem. There is nothing wrong with my eye!_

The CSI grumbled silently to himself. He was sitting in the breakroom, on the couch to be specific, attempting to calm his sight before driving. Ryan excused the blurry vision for a fully dramatic day, but to be safe, he figured he should wait it out.

 _No use getting into an accident._

Ryan looked up and scanned the room. The only soul present was Valera, who was starting a later shift to cover for a fellow co-worker. His eyes widening, Ryan realized he never heard Valera walk in and set up camp. She sat at the round kitchen table that was supposedly for eating, though no one ever had time to do, with a slick, black laptop resting atop. Her eyes stared meticulously at the screen in hopes to read some juicy gossip in celebrity news.

"Well," Ryan broke the silence, "I guess I'm off now." He pressed against the couch and grumbled as he stood up.

"You might want to get to sleep early tonight," Valera questioned, her eyes never leaving the screen. Ryan paused for a moment, unsure of what the blonde meant. "When I walked in, you looked out."

"Oh," the male CSI quipped and lied. "It was just a long day, I guess." Pivoting on his heels, Ryan strode out fast.

"Aw!" Valera burst suddenly, slumping into her metal chair. "Lou Rawls died!"

 _What?_ Ryan stopped short of the door's frame. _Who?_ "What did you say, Valera?" he interrupted.

"Lou Rawls," she repeated with a heavy sigh. "He was one of my favorites. So sad, but not surprising, I guess."

As fast as he began his exit, Ryan rushed over to Valera and her laptop. "When? When did he die?"

The female jumped, startled by Ryan's abrupt interest. "Uh," Valera began to look.

"Was it today?"

"Um," she continued as she squinted her eyes.

"Yesterday? What, Valera, what!" Ryan all but shouted.

"January 6th!" she shouted back.

 _Holy. Shit._ He won. Ryan won the Death Pool. And it wasn't any miniscule amount either. He won $1000.

Bellowing from the top of his voice, Ryan threw his arms around the already freaked Valera and squeezed her tanned shoulders in delight.

"I can't believe it!" he screamed, "ah, thank you, Valera! Thank you!" and scurried out, one hand in his back pocket to locate his phone.

"Uh, you're welcome?" Valera questioned as she sat frozen, curious, and somewhat shocked. "He needs to lay off the caffeine, wow."

* * *

"Pick up, pick up, pick up!" Ryan mumbled. He paced back and forth in front of the department building, unaware that passersby awkwardly gravitated away from his steps, worried he may be one of those mentally ill offenders who just made bail. Finally, the receiving end answered.

"Hello?" a chipper voice greeted.

"James!" Ryan cheered, his pacing halting mid-step. "Is it- did I just?" He could barely find the words, Ryan was too over thrilled.

"Woah, slow down," James laughed. "Yeah, you did."

"Woo! Oh my Ga-." Ryan's free hand flew up to his mouth agape, then stroked against his brown hair, disheveling the once-perfect style. "Is this what it feels like?" he laughed. The sensation was all too magnificent. He barely felt the concrete below his heavy stance, his head filling up with bubbles as the world around the CSI became muddled. It was like staring at a Monet painting, every intricate piece a blurry watercolor.

This was better than drugs. Not that he ever did drugs. But if he did, Ryan would know this feeling was better than that.

Nothing could take it away.

"Ready to play again?" James questioned.

Maybe that. "What?" Ryan pulled himself out of the extraordinary moment. "You're kidding right? I got lucky! Why would I want to push that?"

"Because you can, remember?" James boosted. "Legal gambling. No one gets hurt."

Ryan pondered…. _well, maybe one more time? Wait, no._ "No," he asserted loudly then pulled back his energy. The high was becoming too much. "No. This was a one-time thing." Ryan gulped, knowing he was doing the right thing… he thought. "Thanks, James. But I'm done."

* * *

 _3 weeks later._

Really? Surgery? How could he let this happen? Ryan peered down at his knuckles. There was no blood, but they were pretty banged up from attacking his locker not 20 minutes ago. Now, he was driving home aimlessly. His thoughts wondered away as palm trees flew by, not a single concept of anything taking occupancy in his mind anymore. He didn't know what to think about.

A spastic set of lights caught Ryan's eye to the left of him. It was a casino off of the Causeway. Ryan wanted to stop off at the bar near the lab, but he realized his dazed state caused him to miss it. Absent-mindedly, the CSI took the off ramp, pulled into the casino's driveway, and parked.

 _Just a drink at the bar won't hurt._

Minutes later, Ryan was sipping on a Budweiser, his troubles melting off of his shoulders. He swung around on the red-velvet covered stool he rested on, one of many identical stools that lined the filled bar. His eyes veered to the bright, albeit loud, slot machines that screamed to customers they were the next winner.

 _Too easy_ , Ryan thought. _And time-consuming_ …

His eyes then shifted towards a table covered in green, cards placed strategically in front of each player. A poker game was in play.

Ryan remembered this game. His grandfather used to play with his old war buddies on the weekends when Ryan visited during the summer. He even got to sit in a couple of times and learn a few tricks.

 _There are a lot of things you can learn about life from just one game of poker!_ his granddad would say.

If Ryan was going to lose his job, he might as well have some winnings set aside. He chugged the rest of his beer and motioned to the bartender for another one before meandering over to the table.

 _One game couldn't hurt_ , he decided.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Sorry for taking so long. I'm taking my time writing this for many reasons including wanting to make sure I get certain facts correct. Hopefully, you won't forget the events in previous chapters as I slowly update this story.

 **Episode referenced** **:** "Deviant" (4x16).

* * *

By now, Ryan was recreationally gambling. It wasn't every day, and it wasn't always on his mind or clouding his judgement. Though, while some members of the team went to the bar nearby after work, Ryan would instead alleviate some stress at the casino tables or check online stats for horse races or game results.

Of course, gambling wasn't his only source of social interaction outside of the lab. Sure, Ryan was seeing someone on and off, Erika Sykes in particular. The CSI and the slimy news reporter had taken a curious, albeit selfish, interest in each other. Erika knowing valuable information about the mystery of the lab mole didn't hurt. Ryan decided he would keep her close by… for now.

Yes, Ryan Wolfe was balancing his career, his love life, and his gambling rather well. And no one was the wiser.

"What about you? You've been dating?" Delko asked the younger man one afternoon. They were scouring a neighborhood where a sex offender was found dead. Someone, which they later discover was Alexx, seemingly stapled posters to trees before tearing them down. Now it was their job to find any evidence left behind. Still, that didn't stop the two men from gossiping. Hell, they needed something to pass the time. Right?

"Taking a little bit of a break right now," Ryan admitted. He wasn't lying. Erika complained one day that he wasn't spending any time with her. He was "always working on the mole case."

Okay, so the part towards Erika _was_ a lie. He wasn't trying to track the mole's activities after work…no, he was gambling. But Erika was also being a real pain with her bossy attitude, so he wasn't exactly suffering right now not listening to her talk. Erika Sykes could be very overbearing.

"A break-," Delko chuckled, "that's what they call it?" The older CSI's smug face looked proud of his little comment.

Ryan snapped a stare back at Eric Delko. _Was that really necessary?_ he thought. Part of Ryan didn't know how to take the comment or what it meant to him. Even though Eric knew squat about his new past time, it still felt like he was providing commentary towards Ryan's actions and life decisions…as always.

* * *

In Ryan's point of view, the day just seemed to get worse. To sniff out the mole, he had been letting out bits of information in random instances to see what got around the quickest. He didn't like dropping gossip about himself, but Ryan was a pretty selfless individual. If he was to get it in the end, he would rather not create any enemies by gossiping about them instead.

Unfortunately, one tidbit of him also involved another co-worker, one he had high respect for.

"Ryan, who did you tell that I wrote you a prescription?" Alexx Woods' demeanor was of slight desperation for an answer, but most of it shot back worries of hurt…worries that a close friend of hers threw her under the bus.

Ryan stared back, bewildered. "No one," he feigned. He did confess to someone about his recent eye troubles, but he was just doing his job…just as Horatio told him to do.

"Well, the news traveled all the way to the chief medical examiner's office."

"Well, Alexx, you know there's a mole in the lab."

"Which is why I can't do anymore favors," the motherly female confessed. She bit back a cry in her voice. Alexx hoped she wasn't betrayed by the CSI and truthfully believed Ryan hadn't… but part of her thought maybe he did. "I really put myself out on a limb for you, baby."

"I got it," Ryan smiled stiffly as he watched the doctor's dark, deeply eyes glisten before the sound of her heels clicked firmly away. He then caught a sight to his right. Horatio was quietly watching the exchange… _because he thought I would tell her?_ He wasn't sure, but Ryan did feel his smile turn grim as he changed pace and meandered to the red-haired boss.

"I don't know if I can keep this up, H," he quickly admitted, the pit of his stomach turning sour.

"Mr. Wolfe, I understand, but I need you to trust me," Horatio replied decisively. "This will not fall on you." With that, Horatio, just like Alexx, left the CSI to himself.

Ryan reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. Without much thought, he found James' number and began texting…

"Call me when you get the chance."

* * *

"I just wonder," Ryan chimed solemnly, a cold beer gripped by his left hand, "if Phillip Gordon really changed at all." His eyes met with a beautiful set belonging to a blonde CSI. He and Calleigh were at the nearby bar, a place Ryan had seldom seen in a while, discussing the day's case and casually hanging one or two elbows from the elongated wooden table. Calleigh joked at the lab about it being a date, but Ryan knew better… she belonged to Delko… even if the two didn't know it yet.

"It's possible," Calleigh encouraged as she gently sipped on her own iced beer. "But I guess we'll never know." She shifted from one leg crossed to the other on the bar stool and faced the full display of vodkas, spirits, and other worldly wines.

"But even if he hadn't changed," the young CSI added, "who's to say anyone gave him a chance? I mean, the whole neighborhood was already convinced he was going to do it again, his own family included."

Calleigh shrugged nonchalantly. "I think you answered your own question, Ryan," she smiled. "Society is so accustomed to judging each other based on their past mistakes." She quickly gulped down the remaining alcohol and signaled to the bartender for another. A muscular fellow wearing a white wife-beater strode over, smiled teeth as bright as his shirt, and exchanged the empty bottle for a new one. Calleigh could feel red heat emanating from her cheeks and hoped it didn't show.

Ryan saw the exchange and sighed, turning away in disgust. For all that guy knew, he and Calleigh could actually be there together…but the handsome bartender didn't care. He just wanted his tip.

Ryan's eye abruptly caught the sight of a pool game in the middle of the hazy bar. A scruffy man with torn jeans, a black t-shirt, and dark messy hair just slapped down on the table a wad of bills that had seen their last day. His eyes were merciful, tunneled. He was determined to win against his opponent, a taller, older gentleman in a casual suit. The game was pretty intense for a bar.

"Do you think a person could change, Calleigh?" Ryan suddenly asked passively without breaking his stare at the current entertainment. "Despite their past mistakes?"

Calleigh pulled herself from the innocent flirtation, gulping and focusing her attention back to Ryan. "They would need to want to change." Her green eyes squinted as she noticed his docile demeanor. "Though, this sounds a little less about Phillip Gordon now," she grinned kindly at him. "Anything you want to talk about?"

Ryan's cellphone quickly buzzed and echoed against the wooden bar table they took refuge at. His eyes shot down to the display. It was James.

If that phone had rang 2, maybe 3 minutes later, Ryan wouldn't have taken the call. Instead, he would be talking to a good friend, laying out about his reservations and concerns regarding the job. At this point in his life, he still trusted Calleigh undoubtedly. Down the line, he would still trust to confide in her, but by then so much would happen that he would keep his friends and co-workers at arm's length.

You're probably thinking that no matter what happened, he still wouldn't have confessed much to the blonde…but we will never know because the cellphone did ring. And it rang again…and again.

"Do you need to get that?" Calleigh asked.

Ryan bit the inside of his mouth and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Uh, well…"

"It's okay," Calleigh dismissed. "If it's important, you should get it."

His eyes shifted to the pool game before assuming a smile. "Yeah, sorry." He snatched the phone from the table. "I'll be a minute," he apologized and dashed outside.

"Hey, James," he greeted as the door swung closed. "How's it going?"

"Pleasantries, Wolfe?" James scuffed. "That's why you texted me?"

"Okay, sorry, uh," Ryan pulled himself together. "I was just wondering about getting back into, well, you know…" Somehow it felt almost illegal to say "offshore gambling" even though the whole business was perfectly within the lines of the law.

"Gee, Wolfe," James chided, clicking his tongue, "I don't know. You pretty much blew me off after I got you into it last time. And that was a big win! I don't think you have the balls, frankly."

 _Is he for real?_ Ryan rolled his eyes. "Cut it out, James. Hook me up, okay?"

"Okay, fine." James snarled beneath his breath. "But I'm pretty booked with clients, so I'll have to refer you." That was lie. A fellow bookie who got him started in the business was getting anxious, to put it nicely, about all the work he was seeing. He told James to give him his next client and he would promise not to break his legs…or anything else. James would rather sacrifice a friend than lose a ligament.

It was just business.

"Alright," Ryan agreed impatiently. "What's the name?"

"Lipton. Michael Lipton."


End file.
